36 "That's the Royal Danieli, isn't it? We have an ashtray from there." Movement F "'AWCETT PUBLICATIONS invited us ro a party last week to celebrate the publication of a paperback anthology en titled "The Beats" and containing poems, essays, and stories by a couple of dozen writers who are now leading (ac- cording to Fawcett) the Beat (with, according to Fawcett, a capital "B") Movement. The party was held in the lobby of the Living Theatre, a second- floor walkup at Fourteenth Street and Sixth A venue, a couple of hours before curtain time of that conspicuously living play called "The Connection," which is housed there. As we climbed the stairs, we found copies of "The Beats" pasted to the walls. Some displayed the front cover, wbich has on it a photograph of a pretty young girl and a bearded young man wearing shell-nmmed eyeglasses, plus warnIngs that read, "Here are the most vItal and controversial writers on h ^. " d " R t e ..I.ïmencan scene, an aw, pene- trating stories, poems and social criticism by JACK KEROU A.C, ORMAN MAILER, A.LLEN GINSBERG, LAWRENCE FER- LINGHETTI, and many others. Edited by Seymour Krim." Other copies of the book showed the back cover, which add- ed, "The drive, the fury, the frankness they bring to their writing has made the Beat Generation the most hotly dis- cussed literary movement of this cen- tury." Upstairs, the party seemed slow in getting started Several lovely young ladies, all of them wearing conservative black dresses, were putting up more copies of "The Beats" at the corners of a square bar in the middle of the lobby and helpIng bartenders open bottles of whiskey. We approached a young man, impeccable in Ivy League oxford gray and a knitted black tie, who was putting up still more copies of "The Beats" on the walls. "Nobody here yet who's au- thentic Beat," he told us. "All of us are from Fawcett. W e' re here to inspire confidence. How do you like the girl on the cover? She's an associate editor on our books. She's not Beat at alL We put her on because she looked so typical." He paused "Ah, at last! Seymour Krim' " With this, the Fawcett man turned us over to Mr. Krim, a tall, skinny young man, friendly and wide-eyed, who was sporting a dark-maroon shirt, a black four-in-hand, a brown V-necked pullover, dark-gray trousers, and a sil- very coat. "I'm so nervous," Mr. Knm told us. "1 never presided over a cocktail party before. What am I supposed to do? Introduce people? Mix drinks? Offer them cheese crackers? I wish I didn't feel so nervous Would you like some Scotch? I think it's real." We moved over to the bar, and the bartender poured Krim and us some Scotch. "Ten me somethIng, will you, kId?" the bartender said to Krim. "What are you kids calling this a move- ment for? You make it sound like the Communists, when all you are, you're a bunch of not too braIny, warmhearted kids. " " F 11 . " K . awcett ca s It a movement, nm saId. "Actually, It'S sort of a wave Actually, it's sort of an attitude in any- body who's young or young in heart. It's a posture of rebellion. It's for any- body unwilling to put up with older compromises. " "O.K., O.K., kid," said the bar- tender. "I only thought any writer worth his salt, he stuck to his attic all by himself and wrote." "We're like the French Impression- ist painters, that whole group, although the analogy is a little square," Krim saId. "Actually, there's less competi- tiveness among us than you find among most other writers. The wave brings ideas useful to all of us interchangeably. We turn each other on." "A writer should be like an island," the bartender said "Alone." The party was warming up, with a number of informally attIred youthful guests arriving in twos and threes. We were JOIned by a young man wear- ing chino trousers, a wrinkled khaki shirt open at the collar, and brand-new white sneakers, who had a small, child- like face and shining eyes. "Where's Norman Maller?" he asked Krim. "I want to meet Norman Mailer He's the only really good writer in the whole room. " "He's not here yet," said Krim. "He's the only writer here with ma- jor talent," the young man said. "What about yourself?" Krim asked, plucking a copy of "The Beats" from the wall, introducing the young man to us as Dan Propper, and opening the book to a page headed "Dan Propper- 'The Fable of the Final Hour.' " "I don't regard myself as a great writer," said Propper. "Norman Mail- er has made it; he's there. ThIs is my wife, Eunice," he added, introducing a little, round-faced, black-haired girl wearing a black shirt, black pants, and white sneakers as clean as her husband's. "Where's Norman Mailer?" Eunice asked Another young man, handsome and confident, came by and waved a manu- script packed between black hard cov- ers at us "Got a carbon copy?" Krim asked. "1 never make carbons," said the young man. "You'll regret It someday," said Knm. "1 don't even belong here," said the " I ' . H d young man. m a senIor at arvar This party looks like any old party at Harvard." "Is that Norman Mailer?" Eunice asked Krim, standIng on her toes and pointing to a nearbv man of at least thirty. "That's Leonard Bishop," Krim said, loudly enough for Bishop to hear. "He's sort of a William Styron type " "I'm only a sicknik!" Leonard Bishop called over "What's Herbert Gold doing in your book? What's the idea?" asked the Harvard man "Well, he's really anti-Beat," said Krim. "He's still findIng his waVe He'll get there." "You've got hope here," said the Harvard man. "That's more than we've got at Harvard." "Where's Jack Kerouac?" a chic, attractive lady asked. "My son told me if 1 came to this party I'd see Jack Kerouac " "He plays hard to get," said Krim. "T 00 bad Ginsberg is in Chile, or we'd have had ten good arguments already. Nobody has opened up yet. The party's tame. Anyway, here's Ted J oans." We shook hands with a bearded young Negro who had a Midwestern accent and was wearing a heavy sweater with brown and gray horizontal strIpes. "I'm splitting Friday," J oans told us "That means leaving town. Go- ing on a trip around the world. Get- ting on a boat. GOIng to read my poems in the middle of the AtlantIc. Going to read all over the world-in Liverpool, London, and Brussels. No matter where I am, I always find a place to read." "You make a lot of money gettIng ren ted?" Krim asked him "Enough to get me on that boat tn